


Goner

by PrincessaBitchessa



Series: Princessa's Bitchin' Prompts 2017 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AKA HELL, Adding More as I Continue, After writing this, And I mean OH SHIT, And not just any incest folks!, BAMF!Stiles, Broken!Stiles, Can I Get A Scott McFail???, DAMMIT DEREK, DRAMA!!!!, Derek is a Cheater, Derek is a Failwolf, Derek still wants Stiles, Everyone is a failwolf, Except the mighty few, Fuck The Pack, I need a hug, LIKE OBVIOUSLY DOH, Lydia Bashing, Lydia is a bitch, Lydia is ruthless, Other Characters Will Show Up Eventaully, Scott Bashing, Scott McCall is a Bad Friend, Sexual Innuedoes, Sheriff Stilinski is a Bad Parent, Should I add real tags?, Song Lyric Refernces!!!, Spot the Snark!, Stiles Needs a Hug, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, The pack belongs where Jeff Davis does, There Might Be Incest - Freeform, There is probably gonna be incest, Twincest!, WHO WOULDNT WANT THAT???, Why Did I Write This?, Y'all Thought I Wouldn't, and because I said so, because why not?, but I did, can still be broken, everyone is a bad friend, oh shit, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessaBitchessa/pseuds/PrincessaBitchessa
Summary: He was already broken, but this added weight had broken the metaphorical camel's back.~PB~Stiles was kicked out of the pack. He helped them, took the brunt of the pain, then was forgotten by what seemed like everyone. Then, everything is not as it seemed. He's not so alone anymore and maybe not so human. What will these new things mean for Stiles?





	1. Chapter 1: What the Fuck?

** Part 1 **

He felt like distance was the best answer. This meant no contact what-so-ever, not even a text or a ‘Good morning’ in the hallways at school. Sometimes, he’d think up a funny dirty joke that he wanted to tell to the pack, but then he remembered. They weren’t on speaking terms.

It’s been nine months since the Nogitsune. Two months since Donovan. Month after month of being alone.

No one to greet him in the morning in his home either. His dad had said that he understood what happened with Donovan, but Stiles knew his dad still viewed him as Stiles: the boy who murdered a troubled soul and who was unfortunately his blood.

So John Stilinski worked. He worked and worked and avoided Stiles like the plague that Stiles knew he was.

It took some time for Stiles to understand his predicament and the gravity of it. It took some time for him to realize that no one wanted him or loved, when one day it became crystal clear, in the form of a man on his front porch on Christmas Eve, and showed him a stack of papers with the word ‘SOLD’ stamped across the front.


	2. Chapter 2: And A Handsome Stranger Walks In

“Wha-What?” Stiles was horrified. His home, sold? The place he grew up in and the last home his mother had lived in, given away to another? What the fuck was going on?

“Uh, did I come at a bad time? Noah Stilinski told me to come today, but he didn’t give me a specific time, but I thought noon was as good a time as any! Or maybe he did give me a time and I just wasn’t paying attention. I don’t know. Maybe I was supposed to come last Saturday? Well I’m here now, so...” The man trailed off, realizing that Stiles’s expression was only getting more bewildered and paler the more he talked.

“What?” Stiles repeated, feeling a bit lost and was sort of not understanding why this guy was on his doorstep. Stiles stared at the man, seeing if his facial expression would give a complete explanation of why he was there, but all he saw were kaleidoscope eyes that looked a lot like Derek’s, along with the expressional eyebrows, minus the scowl, with a five o’clock shadow. This guy looked just like a Hale.

The Derek Hale look-a-like cleared his throat, looking embarrassed under the scrutiny of Stiles’s observant eyes. “So when can I start moving in?” he asked, trying hard to resist a full body flush under Stiles’s gaze.

Stiles was beginning to feel dread pool up in his stomach. What did this handsome stranger mean? At first, Stiles was just going to write this off as a wrong house situation, but he said Noah Stilinski, and this was the Stilinski residence. What did Stiles’s dad do? Suddenly, Stiles felt as though he knew exactly what was going on.

Noah Stilinski had sold the house.

His head was swimming. How could his father, his own blood and family, do such a thing to his only child? What did he expect Stiles to do? What had Noah Stilinski done?

Stiles began to panic, attempting to inhale, but get no oxygen in his lungs in return for the action.

The last thing he saw before he sank into the dark abyss of unconsciousness, was the handsome look-a-like stranger’s concerned and alarmed face, with hands reaching out to catch him.


	3. Chapter 3: Keep Your Emotions In Check

_You can’t deny it anymore, Stiles Stilinski. You are completely alone. Not even your own for loves you enough to stay. He sold the house while you’re still living in it. Scott kicked you out of the pack. Derek left you. Didn’t your mom say that you made her kill herself? You killed Allison and Aiden. Don’t forget about all those police officers who just wanted to protect and serve. I know what the others don’t too. I know that you enjoyed it. I know you like being the reason that they were reduced to empty corpses. I know you_ loved _that I was along for the ride._

 _Do you ever think that you’d be alone if you let me in. I’d protect you. I’d keep you company and we could get revenge on all those who hurt you. Wouldn’t you like to see your dad reduced to tears and broken? Wouldn’t you like to see Scott bleed like you always seemed to when involved with them? Wouldn’t you like to see them suffer? We could cause them pain so great that they’d be for your forgiveness_ and _death. Just let me in again Stiles, and I could make all of those wishes become reality._

_JUST LET ME IN!_

~PB~ _  
_

Stiles woke up feeling like he’d been crying for days. His throat dry and felt raw, swallowing an uncomfortable action. His eyes felt like they were glued shut, and both cheeks were sticky and felt burned.

                Stiles looked around. He was in his room on his bed in a pair of pajamas that he hadn’t worn in forever. The task of sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed proved to be a relatively simple one, considering the fact that when he usually woke up like this, he had just been hurt while fighting with the pack –

                Everything that had happened in the past months came rushing back and washed over him like a tidal wave. Stiles remembered that he was human and he was a part of no pack and that his dad had sold his childhood home and that Stiles Stilinski was now a homeless teen with nowhere to go.

                Before Stile could go into full freak out mode and begin hyperventilating, the owner of his old house walked into the room. “I see that you’re awake now. So, was today a bad day to come or something? I should’ve called first. Sorry I freaked you out earlier. I definitely should’ve called –”

                “Stop.” Stiles stopped the guy’s annoying [read: cute] rambling so he could grasp of the situation. He wasn’t in control and he needed to be. To be in control of the fact that a stranger was buying – no, _had_ bought – his childhood home and he hadn’t known. Stiles would be damned if he let a stranger know just how fucked up he was over this, so he put on mask that consisted of a blank expression that hid steel resolve. “What is your name?”

                The stranger looked taken aback for a second before he put on a carefully neutral face and responding “Ashton. Ashton Hale. What’s yours?” The stranger, who now had a name, looked wary, like he didn’t want to reveal this particular information and that him getting Stiles’s name was like a trade.

                Instead, Stiles ignored his question and asked another. “A Hale, huh? I thought the rest were dead?” Stiles felt daring right now. He was questioning a guy who was quite likely a werewolf, while they were in close proximity, unarmed. Yeah, Stiles totally had a death wish.

                Ashton’s whole demeanor changed immediately after the question was in the air, taking on a defensive crouch. “What do you know about the Hales?” he demanded around a mouthful of fangs and with glowing red eyes.

                Stiles, realizing that he was in fact too young to die, tried to diffuse the situation. “Woah! Calm DOWN, Wolfy. I know a shit ton about them, but could you please put the weapons away? I’ll tell you everything if you just calm the fuck down. I’ve seen enough fangs, claws, and glowing eyes to last me a lifetime.”

                Ashton began shifting back to his human form, but he still looked at Stiles warily. He slowly inched over to the computer chair, then hesitantly took a seat, like something was about to jump out and attack him. When he was fully seated, Ashton made a “continue” gesture.

                Stiles sighed. He realized that his past was so interwoven in the Hales’ story that he would have to tell this guy everything. This was going to take a while. Stiles looked out of his window. There were the first hints of stars in the sky. He took a deep breath. Then…

                He began. “Well, we are going to have to start from the very beginning, at least when my involvement began, okay? No interruptions, got it?” Stiles waited for a nod from Ashton, the he closed his eyes. “It all started, well for me that is, about three years ago, before the first day of my sophomore year. The day before it began, I decided to listen in on my dad’s dispatch calls…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this, and if you see any errors worth mentioning, please let me know in the comments and I'll fix them as soon as possible! Also, I'll update at the very least once a week.


	4. Chapter 4: A Breakdown and a Shocker

“… So basically, they’re all gone. Dead, out of Beacon Hills or in Eichen House,” Stiles concluded after a very long (he knew it was long because the sky was just showing hints of dawn) recount of his past and findings. Stiles hated every second of it. The recalling of the fact that _he_ was the reason Scott was turned into a werewolf.

                “And that’s just the Hales, right? Your pack is a different story.” [Ashton](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/652318327246524406/) said that, sounding so sure of himself that Stiles was instantly reminded of Derek when he had his mind set to something, that it hurt.

                Looking down, Stiles got lost in his emotions. “Well, yeah. A lot of people died, but not by fire like your family. Their death was caused by –” Stiles stopped abruptly, his breathing labored. Then he let his guilt out. “It was my fault. Their deaths are my fault. I killed them. _I_ killed them! They were all so good and young and I used the Oni to kill them. I used sword to cut their bodies and steal their souls.” Stiles looked back up, looking a confused and wary Ashton in the face. “Guess I didn’t exactly tell you everything, huh?” Stiles nearly cried at the fact that he basically had to go through the events that he had suppressed so long. “The wolves. They were possessed by fireflies … fireflies I sent to possess them, in an attempt for them kill each other before they could kill, well, me.”

                Something passes through the new Hale’s eyes, something akin to understanding. Stiles briefly wondered why he understood this, when no one else did – when everyone else only flashed him looks of pity or pure, unadulterated hate – but before he could ask, the house began shaking.

                Ashton and Stiles made eye contact silently communicating something that Stiles really didn’t understand, before Ashton picked Stiles up and took him into the hallway. He tried to take him to his father’s old room, where a panic room hid inside of the closet in there, but the process was difficult. The house was shaking like someone had grabbed it and was shaking at its seams while an earthquake was happening, which made Stiles who was doing this, and he had no doubt it was supernatural problem.

                Ashton had given up on trying to get Stiles to the panic room, and now was attempting to defend him. Stiles sat there honored, as Ashton placed him on the ground gently, while also succumbing to his wolf’s nature. He was shifting into his beta form and growling, as if that would keep any threats away.

                And a threat this was.

                The thing that was shaking Stiles’s old and Ashton’s new house had growled back, and if anything, shook the house harder.

                “What is that?” Ashton revised himself because he could smell what it was, but Stiles had a look that was a mix of sadness and pain, but his scent was withdrawn, empty. It stirred old feelings in Ashton, emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time. The feeling to shield, to protect. “ _Who_ is that?”

                What Stiles said next increased that his instincts tenfold.

                Stiles was looking into his bedroom at the window when he answered, in a tone that sent chills down Ashton’s werewolf spine.

                “It’s the pack.” Then the glass of Stiles’s window shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right! Joe Dinicol is Ashton and isn't he such a fucking cutie with glasses????


	5. Chapter 5: The Tragic Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I should say sorry about the cliff hanger from the last chapter, but then I thought "I definitely am going to do it again doh" and then I typed this up!

“It’s the pack.” Then the glass of Stiles’s window shattered.

(^.^) PB (^.^)

 

Ashton realized just how close Stiles was pressing to his body. His warmth felt nice, even if he was just a human and the heat he gave up was incomparable to ha of a werewolf’s.

It was highly distracting.

Instead of leaning into the warmth that felt so nice, he backed up some and helped Stiles up and tried to comfort him with words. “Come on. We’re gonna get out of here. I won’t let them hurt you. Sti, no one will touch you while I’m still here.” Stiles stood, but he was now bone straight.

Stiles was reeling. This foreign Hale, this stranger, had called him the nickname his mom used to call him. To others it may not seem like much, but that was the last thing out of Claudia Stilinski’s mouth before disease took her.

A disease that Stiles caused.

Stiles had had enough of causing deaths and wrongful deaths to last him a lifetime. He was not going to let Ashton’s life factor into that number.

While Stiles was lost in his thoughts, Ashton had picked him up and continued his way to the panic room with Stiles in his arms.

Stiles, realizing that Ashton was trying to protect him, thought of others who had attempted and realized that this wouldn’t particularly end well for Ashton. So he did what any rational person would do. He scared the shit out of Ashton. “Put me DOWN.” Stiles yelled this right in his ear.

It worked well enough. Stiles had startled Ashton so badly that he dropped him. Stiles, annoyed that his plan had backfired, complained. “I _said_ put me down, not just callously throw me on the ground!” Stiles stood, dusted himself off, and creeped towards his room.

Ashton, upon realizing what Stiles was going to do, grabbed his arm. “What the hell are you doing,” he hissed. He looked like he was tempted to pick Stiles up, only to drop him again, but harder and without warning. Maybe also kick him. To he was unconscious.

“Stop with the glaring! Its rude!” Stiles scolded Ashton, but this only made him glare harder. Oh yeah, definitely a Hale. Stiles cracked a smile, even though Ashton’s face still was conformed to a glare. “Oh Ash, baby, don’t be such a Sourwolf.”

There was a ferocious growl from outside that made Stiles freeze. Even though he hadn’t heard that growl for months, he knew exactly who it belonged to.

The original Sourwolf.

Stiles stood there, a little [read: completely and utterly] shocked. How long had Derek been back? Why is he back? Did he come back for Stiles? He blinked and changed his train of thought. Thoughts like that were dangerous. Instead, he turned to Ash, trying to get him to hide while Stiles dealt with this. He kind of forgot about them while he messed with Ashton, but now he had to face them. He could already hear the impatient snarls of the Pack.

He mouthed ‘hide’ to Ashton and pushed him towards the panic room in his dad’s old room. Ashton turned to stare back at Stiles with hesitant, uneasy eyes, trying to convey to Stiles that this completely went against his instincts and how was he supposed to protect him? So he grabbed Stiles’s and stared into his eyes, as if he were searching for something. Whatever he had found seemed to satisfy him somewhat, making himself turn to the panic room keypad hidden behind a false wall and typed in the code, allowing the door to open.

Ashton lifted his foot to walk in, but before he actually stepped in, he turned around and hugged Stiles. He whispered ‘stay safe’ with his lips at Stiles’s temple, then backed into the panic room slowly. He lifted his hand and pulled the door closed, leaving Stiles alone. He thought back to what just happened and realized that Ash also kissed the top of his head. He hadn’t experienced that type of affection for what felt like forever.

Damn. Now he really liked Ashton Hale.

Stiles’s mild freak out was interrupted when he heard simultaneous growls from outside. Shaking his head Stiles hid his emotions, steeled his back and walked to the front door.

Before he walked out, he turned and stared up the stairs and said “I will”, knowing that even Ash’s alpha werewolf ears wouldn’t be able to hear him from the panic room.

Then, he took a deep breath and walked towards his doom in the form of his former friends.


	6. Chapter 6: A Sourwolf and a Possessive Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laziness is a deep set trait. That's my only excuse for not giving you more.

Then, he took a deep breath and walked towards his doom in the form of his former friends.

*(^.^)* PB *(^.^)*

The growling and snarling he had heard from inside increased tenfold when he opened the door. But when he stepped completely out, it was silent. The tension in the air was so thick that it was palpable.

No one spoke for what felt like hours, but was really on slowly moving minutes. Everyone was glaring at Stiles, trying to intimidate him and make him squirm, but this isn’t the first time that he’s experienced this. Instead, of losing him composure, Stiles kept his back straight and eyes empty. He makes sure his scent doesn’t give anything incriminating away, only making sure he smelled bored.

Scott was the first one to speak. “Why the hell does your house smell like a wolf has been here?” Scott looked like he wanted to do more that maim Stiles, and he loathed the look. Scott looked so different with that look on his face.

“This isn’t my house” was all he responded with.

The Pack tried to hide it, but they were shocked and confused, not hearing a lie in my heart’s beat. Hayden, Scott, Liam, Lydia, Malia and Derek were there, trying to threaten Stiles on _his_ old territory, but they didn’t know that it still wasn’t his. This was wrong on _so_ many different levels. “What do you mean that this isn’t your house? Don’t lie to us. We don’t have time for your bullshit Stiles.” Scott really had changed. The old Scott would never curse because Stiles would do enough of that for the both of them. He looked older and sounded like he had seen all of the horrors that this world could possibly bring… but he hadn’t.

Stiles had.

“I mean, Mr. True Alpha, that my house was bought by a nice young make who is quite the looker.” Stiles flashed back to the first time he laid eyes on Ash, which was yesterday. “Although, I bet he could sense my arousal. Wonder why he didn’t say or do anything about it though,” Stiles mused out loud. “It was practically tangible.”

The voice of Ashton is the one thing that shook him out of his thoughts. “I could’ve threw you on a bed and fucked you raw while imminent danger was lurking, but that’s too much of a cliché for me, Sti.”

Stiles whipped his head around to look at Ashton, who was standing in the doorway of the house. He was silently trying to ask ‘What the hell did you come outside for after I told you to hide?’ with his eyes. He doubted that Ashton would understand because they’ve only know each other for two days, but Ashton is full of surprises.

Ashton showed his understanding by answering into Stiles’s ear in a husky whisper “because I protect what’s mine.”

Stiles knew that he did it and isn’t proud to admit it, but he fucking swooned. Like a love-struck girl. Dammit Ashton.

Throughout the interaction, Stiles noted that the Pack had been steadily growling, but Derek’s was the most pissed off. He sounded like he was seconds away from mauling Ashton open and repeating the process again and again after he healed each time.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek. He couldn’t help but mumble/sing “you ain’t shit” under his breath, but judging by Derek’s eyebrows scrunching up in ager and something that was akin to hurt, he had heard. Ashton was rumbling in what Stiles assumed was laughter, vibrating Stiles with the sounds. Stiles smiled at the reactions, but then remembered that there was definitely a problem with this situation. Normally, Stiles was all for ignoring a problem until it went away, but Stiles wanted to get this shit sorted out so that he could question what Ashton’s earlier statement meant.

“So… why are you guys here? We were busy, and I kinda would like to get back to what we were doing.” Stiles didn’t realize what was wrong with that sentence until Derek snarled.

Stiles’s eyes widened drastically and he grew slightly aroused when he recognized what he just implied. “Um… we weren’t doing anything _sexual_ , not that I’m against the idea…” Ashton let out a huff of laughter against his ear then began licking the shell of it. Stiles blushed, but felt himself harden in his pyjama bottoms. “but… Wha – Why are you guys here?” He couldn’t focus. Ashton was nibbling on his ear lobe and it made Stiles want to moan louder than an Omega in heat. Why was Ash torturing him like this?

Stiles was blessed [read: cursed] with a distraction in the form of Lydia vocalizing her thoughts. “Well, we were tracking the wolf that was on our territory, but that’s over. The big question now is: Why does he want _you_? He could be with a hot wolf or _anything else_ but he chose a fugly human. I can’t begin to imagine why he would want _you_ though.”

At that, Stiles’s soul shattered a bit. It’s not like Stiles still had feelings for her, hell he never really wanted _her_ in the first place. Stiles envied her popularity, money and intelligence among other things. Especially now. That may sound pathetic, but Stiles is lonely. Having no one doesn’t help his hate for her at all either. He hates her more. He hates her attitude and how she thinks that she’s better than everyone. He hates how she looks down at everyone like they’re beneath her and that people are just wads of gum sticking to the bottoms of her Jimmy Choos. He hates how she _always_ , without fail, takes what’s his.

He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm himself before he talks. “You’re just mad because I found someone better than your new, but my old, Derek. Ash is mine and he’d never leave me for someone as dense and fake as your eyelashes. Now please step off of the alpha’s property.

The banshee sneered, as if she couldn’t believe that Stiles had dared to say such things to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but Ashton bared his fangs at her and snarled.

Aston put his arm around Stiles’s waist, turned them around, and walked to the front door. They were almost inside the house when Stiles remember. He remembered something crucial. Some of the first things anyone is ever taught when learning how to fight. Never turn your back to your foe and never, under any circumstance, let your guard down.

Stiles and Ashton did both. The backlash was fucking horrible.


	7. Chapter 7: No Pain, No Gain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! My computer was being an assmuncher and wasn’t working for me to type up what I had written. Anyway, I’m dedicating this chapter to Aubrey, who’s birthday was this week and for whom I TRIED to make a video edit of Stalec for, but I suck at everything, so that was a flop. Anyway, Aubrey, I hope you like this. Happy Birthday, love!

Never turn your back to your foe and never, under any circumstance, let your guard down.

Stiles and Ashton did both. The backlash was fucking horrible.

*(^.^)*PB*(^.^)*

It all happened in a second – if you blinked, you would’ve missed it.

Just as Stiles was turning back around, Lydia screamed, using the force of it to slam Stiles and Ashton into the double front [door](https://flic.kr/p/7VbvrX) so hard that he felt some of his ribs shatter and could hear Ashton’s snap.

Lydia ‘tsked’ at them, like she was scolding children. “Oh, dear old Stiles Stilinski, forgetting the two most important rules in fighting. Do you remember them now? Or would you like a refresher?”

This bitch was the fucking Antichrist. Stiles swore up and down that he could see little horns sticking up, out of her hair and three sixes under all of that fucking make-up. Stiles barely managed to mutter out a “fuck you” through the pain he was in. Everything hurt like a bitch – Stiles could hardly breathe through the agony of it.

Ashton must’ve smelled his struggle or something because he grunted out for Lydia to stop. “He’s human. _Let him go_. He can’t take the pain like I can.”

Stiles noticed that Ashton was pleading for Stiles’s life like it was his own, the way… the way Derek _used_ to. The thought made Stiles’s chest ache more than it did because unwanted memories rushed forward.

He felt tears pool in his eyes with how Derek used to be. They used to be Sterek (“Not Deriles, Stiles!” “But Der –” “No, Stiles! The submissive’s name should always come first!”), rough around the edges, but still happy in love with one another. But now, Derek just stands there, emotionless expression on his face, watching his ex-mate fight unconsciousness dished from the powers of his most vicious and most sociopathic – no, _[psychopathic](http://www.medicaldaily.com/whats-difference-between-sociopath-and-psychopath-not-much-one-might-kill-you-270694)_ – girlfriend yet.

(‘And the guy wonders why he always gets hurt, physically _and_ mentally – he has the most impaired sense of judgement _ever_.’ Wait! Pay attention to the fact that you are close to _death_ , Stiles!)

Stiles was forced to focus when Lydia applied pressure on Stiles’s throat, choking him. She had a sadistic smile etched onto her feature, showing that she was enjoying the sight of Stiles clawing his throat bloody, attempting to fight against an unseen force.

He falls into the land of nothingness, but even there, he could still feel pain.

(@_@) PB (@_@)

In a last dich effort to save Stiles, Ashton pushes through his pain and begins to drag Stiles over to himself. He sees the others tense, knowing that they are wondering how he is able to move – how’s he even still _conscious_ – is beyond him. He’d be wondering about this more, but all that matters at the moment is Stiles.

Finally pulling Stiles over to him, he begins to leech his piercing pain. Even though he’s still hurting, Ashton knows that he’d do anything to protect his mate.

Shaking his head, Ashton stares at the brown-haired, mole-speckled boy before him, the pain Lydia causing him at the back of hi–

Ashton sat up. There was no pain. Her scream was still going, only he couldn’t feel any of the force from it. Now that he thought about it, Stiles wasn’t receiving fresh pain either. He was still pulsing it, but it didn’t feel new.

Ashton looked up at the pack before him. They were glaring at him with judgey eyebrows and/or glowing eyes. The icing on the cake was that they all looked confused. It felt like Ashton had just won a lottery in the form of teaching this pack something. It was too bad Stiles was unconscious because this was fucking gold.

The wailing women was the one who broke Ashton from his amusing thoughts. “Well, out with it! Why can’t we hurt you?!” The girl – (Lydia?) – was practically a literal of anger. “Tell me!”

Her anger didn’t faze him in the least. He let a smile creep onto his face. This being, this fine specimen of the human race, was his and he, Stiles’s. Ashton wanted to shout this news from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge or Beacon Hills’s Look Out Point, but revealing it to this disrespectful pack would have to settle for now. “Don’t you heathens know about the mate bond?”


	8. Chapter 8: The Upper and Lower Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me all weekend to update!!!!! I was sucked into the black hole that is known as Youtube watching all of these creepy clown videos. And let me just tell you, I am SHOOK.

“Don’t you heathens know about the mate bond?”

(^_^)PB(^_^)

The main three froze. Scott, Lydia, and Derek looked shocked and horrified as they stood there, unbreathing and unmoving. They were frozen as though not moving wouldn’t make this real.

The rest of the pack, sensing their leaders’ panic and horror, were confused. They were all looking at each other asking the same questions: What the hell is a mate bond and why were their leaders so shocked to learn about it and its implications? (In all honesty, Ashton was wondering about the second one also.)

Out of the entire pack, Derek was the one who seemed to be the most shocked by the turn of events. They had started off with the upper hand, but now they really didn’t have anything anymore, except intimidation, which honestly wasn't working for them anymore. Add the new disadvantage and the shock, and Derek was a perfect statue. His chest wasn’t moving, and his face was beginning to turn blue. Ashton noted that he was going to pass out if someone didn’t break the tension soon, but he wasn’t sure if that would be too bad.

While Ashton was mentally debating the pros and cons of Derek passing out, the other members of the pack were exchanging looks that dared each other to speak up first.

The girl with curly brown hair who didn’t smell specifically like wolf, but far from human, spoke up. “What’s a mate bond?” The girl asked like she was demanding an answer, but her eyes looked uncertain, wary of the situation.

Ashton felt a smirk creep onto his face. This was perfect. Ashton having the upper hand made him feel powerful; it made him feel like he could get out of this alive with his _mate_.

God, that was never going to get old, calling this boy _his_. Because that’s what Stiles was going to be, if he accepted.

Stiles _had_ to accept. Couldn’t he feel the bond already too?

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ashton looked at the girl. He took a deep breath, and began telling the ones not in the know about the mate bond.

(n.n)PB(V.V)

The pure, unadulterated _nothing_ of the realm of unconsciousness was stifling and disconcerting. It was everywhere, barely allowing Stiles to see his own hand, even though it was directly in front of his face.

But those things, they weren’t the worst part of it. The whispers, the cries, and the touches weren’t even the worst part of it.

The worst was the static.

Patrick (as in St. Fuck), the static really was. It was always there, even when the voices of the people he killed shouted that he was a murderer, when the adults cried, asking why _he_ took them away from their families, and not old age.

The static was there when the decayed hands of those he killed began clawing at him, growing louder and LOUDER while he was running and pushing his way through the violent hands.

Then, it was gone. There was no sound except the deafening sound of silence, which was more disturbing than the verbal and physical abuse.

He hated the silence. Silence held secrets. Trying to break it, Sties shouted out “HELP!”, but no sound left his mouth. Even his hyperventilating wasn’t heard. There was _nothing_.

Doing the only thing he could think of, he began walking. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed easy enough, but his increasing panic made it an incredibly difficult feat. Breathing quick and shallow, Stiles felt the urge to run, and fast.

He ran for what felt like hours, but there was no end in sight. There was no glowing red ‘EXIT’ sign anywhere. He was never going to leave.

Stiles sank to his knees and cried. He cried hard, so hard that he didn’t notice that he could hear himself weep for a good forty-five minutes. When he did, he got a grip on himself. Opening his eyes, Stiles looked around. He was in a different place.

Or maybe, it was the same place with the lights turned on, Stiles didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d been here before.

This was the room where he’d first met the Nemeton.

The Nemeton sat there, but it was not its usual stump. Instead, there were a bunch of semi- thick trees entwined together, making a monster of trees.

Stiles looked at the tree, knowing that he should be panicking - after all, this tree was the reason that he’s Void. This was the tree that ruined his life. He should be _pissed_ , but instead, all he could feel was _safe_ and a pull to get closer - to _touch_ \- and that once he did, everything would be better. He would be happy.

Stiles would be _loved_.

Closing his eyes, Stiles did what his spark wanted him to and stepped closer.

And closer.

And closer.

And closer, until all that was left was nothing but a breath of air between them. Raising his hand directly in front of him, Stiles hesitated. Maybe he _shouldn't_ have listened to his spark. Maybe he should’ve just waited and stayed put. Maybe he -

His train of panicked thoughts were cut short when a pulse of energy pulled him forward, making his rest on the tree. There wasn’t even enough time for him to process that he moved - let alone what just _happened_ \- before he was being attacked by vivid colors and a heard a soothing voice.


	9. Chapter 9: Guess Trees Really CAN Talk

There wasn’t even enough time for to process that he moved – let alone what just _happened_ – before he was being attacked by vivid images and heard a soothing voice.

~PB~

First, there was all red. Red everywhere, covering everything and when he inhaled, it was as though he could _taste_ the color.

                Then, there was nothing but grey. At this point, Stiles was _positive_ that he was tasting colors. It tasted like pumpkin spice with a dash of cinnamon, but had an underlying hint of ash that helped to give of the distinct feel of danger.

                Stiles was about to start looking for an exit in the large room that kept seeming to change colors, when a voice spoke. “Calm down, Stiles. You’re not in harm’s way while here with me.” The voice, that sounded neither male nor female, felt as though it was coming from all around him and also felt… familiar.

                “Who are you?” Stiles wanted to feel panicked, but instead he felt safe and content… exactly like he did at the Nemeton. He started to draw conclusions and came to one that had be the answer because it was the only logical one, but at the same time couldn’t be because it wasn’t logical and because _no_. This voice, it could belong to an inanimate thing. It couldn’t belong to –

                “I am Nemeton, but I’m sure you already knew that.” The voice responded, sounding amused and smug as shit.

~PB~

These kids were shocked. Ashton didn’t think that there was another word to describe their faces. They were absolutely and utterly shocked. Although, they weren’t as bad as their leaders’ reactions were.

                Speaking of which, where _were_ their leaders? When he had started explaining, they must’ve suddenly gained movement of their limbs again and moved, but Ashton hadn’t noticed them doing so. After all, they were irrelevant.

                Although now, he was done teaching their betas shit that _they_ should’ve taught them, and he was bored and curious. “So. Where’d your alphas wander off to?” The betas turned around, looking for their alphas also. “You don’t know where they are either, huh? Maybe they went back to your…” Ashton trailed off when he noticed Stiles wasn’t right beside him. Where the fuck had he gone? All he had done was look in the other fucking direction!!!

                Ashton turned his attention to the betas, who had begun talking amongst themselves. His eyes were beginning to burn, meaning that they were showing his fury: one red eye to represent his alpha status, but his right was lilac to represent that he was mated and for others to back off. He opened his mouth and roared. “Where the hell is my mate?”

                The betas were shaking in fear, even Malia. They quickly began searching for Stiles and his scent.

                Little did they know that Stiles would be perfectly safe. The Nemeton may have only held his mind, but as long a part of him was there, Stiles was protected.

~PB~

Stiles narrowed his eyes while searching for the source of the bodiless voice. It seemed to come from everywhere at once from all sides. The fuck? “Ay! Cut the smugness. Just tell me why I am here. But first, let’s start with where _here_ even is.”

                The Nemeton chuckled, well at least the floor shook beneath Stiles’s feet, which Stiles assumed meant that the Nemeton had laughed. “Now now, Little Spark” Nemeton responded in a casual tone. “No need to be so _demanding_. We’re all friends in the Eye.” Nemeton must have sensed Stiles’s confusion because he – she, _it_ – began to tell Stiles what the Eye was. “The Eye is my mind, but also a safe haven for those of whom I wish to invite inside.”

                Although he’d never admit it, Stiles felt honoured. The Nemeton had allowed him, a broken and damaged boy, inside of his safe haven. It made him feel special.

                Stiles, grinning, looked around. This place, the Nemeton’s Eye, was empty. Despite that, the area had a homey feel. It made Stiles remember that he was currently devoid of a home, and the realization snapped him out of a place that made him feel happy and loved. Instead, he asked the million-dollar question: “Why am I here?”

                He took a seat where he stood while he waited for a response. When it didn’t feel like a response was coming immediately, Stiles did what he felt he does best, and that is babble too real and too true shit to other people so he could get it off of his chest. “Like, I mean, you could’ve invited anyone here. Someone smart or talented or undamaged, but you chose me. Why?” As Stiles spoke, his voice grew quieter and smaller until it cracked and was barely audible when he asked his second question again. “Why?”

                Before the waterworks could really get flowing, the Nemeton spoke his reasons. “You are a unique one, Little Spark. I would like for you to succeed in life and not for you to think you are the scum of the Earth or something else quite insulting.” The Nemeton had spoken as though it was offended on Stiles’s behalf. That picked the curious side of Stiles that had seemed to vanish long ago.

                “How was my truth insulting to you?” Stiles might not have seemed like it, but he genuinely wanted to know.

                A glowing figure appeared in front of him. “Because I have given you a gift that already loves you. I have also passed some of my powers along to you and made you my kin.”


	10. Chapter 10: A Warehouse? Really?

A glowing figure appeared in front of him. “Because I have passed some of my powers along to you and made you my kin.”

~PB~

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked while he eyed the glowing thing warily.

                The glowing thing shimmered while the Nemeton released something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Don’t be wary of my other gift, Stiles. You’ll love him.”

                Stiles didn’t even take his eyes off of his supposed ‘gift’ when he stated “You did not answer my question.” Stiles wanted to face the Nemeton, but all he had to look at was this _gift_ that seemed extremely human-like, playful, and snarky like Stiles.

                Or, at lease how he _used_ to be.

                “I gave you powers of mine. Technically, you should be like me now, but I only duplicated the some of the powers I have, then I believed. Your spark took care of the rest.”

                Yeah, because that _really_ explained a lot.

                Stiles rose his eyes up from his feet and looked at where his gift’s eyes should have been, had he been a person. Then, to no one’s surprise, he said “Thank you.”

                The Nemeton sent him back to his dimension as a ‘You’re welcome’.

~PB~

He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he fucking move?

                Stiles’s arms and legs were being by big, thick black straps that felt moist and slick.

                At first guess, Stiles believed the moistness to be from sweat, which would signify that he’d been there for a while, but then the _smell_ hit him.

                The somewhat tangy-with-a-hint-of-copper scent of **blood**.

                Where the hell was he and who’s blood was that?

                Stiles tried to kick his feet, to struggle ― tried to do something, _anything_ ― but it was as though something sitting on his chest, making each struggle hard and complicated. It made breathing seem as though he was facing the struggles of someone with terrible asthma. Plus, his wrists were starting to bleed from struggling against the relentlessly tight handcuffs around them.

                Now, he was panicking. He just left the Eye and he was _already_ in trouble. Would Ashton save him? Stiles thought that he had the whole hero complex going and probably wouldn’t leave the puny human to fend for himself. Plus, he was last with him, at least he thinks that he was.

                Stiles’s eyes widen because _shit_. He doesn’t even know where he last was, so hot the fuck was he supposed to know if anyone was going to rescue him?!

                He sighed. No one was going to rescue him. He wasn’t important. He had **no** pack and **no** friends.

                He was worthless.

                He was alone.

                Stiles hopped off of that train of thought before he started to cry. He was already a loner, he didn’t want to seem _pathetic_ on top of that, even if he really was.

                Instead, he started to look around. He was inside… a warehouse. (Stiles snorted. Classic. The cliché-ness of the situation was just too hilarious not to.) He looked around. There were sharp objects laid on the table a little way away from him, and the objects could mean nothing good for Stiles. But, instead of panicking over the fact that he most likely going to be _tortured_ , he kept surveying the surroundings (low-key checking for exits in the case of a highly unlikely escape). His eyes caught on some chains hanging around, some with hooks, some without. They all gave Stiles an ominous feeling, like soon _he_ would be hanging from them.

                Hearing footsteps, Stiles pretended to be unconscious still, making his face go slack and look unbothered, despite the fact that in reality, his heart was jack rabbiting and his mind was racing through all the possibilities of this warehouse being the site of his final breath.

                The footsteps drew nearer and at this point, Stiles could distinguish several foot patterns, representing that several people were heading his way.

                The footsteps stopped, Stiles barely made out the sound of hushed whispering, then a set were receding. The other footsteps kept drawing nearer.

                The footsteps were calm and stead, meaning that a rescue party wasn’t coming for him.

                Stiles was about to meet his kidnappers.

~PB~

The gift was not just a “glowing figure” like Stiles thought. It was someone who had always been, but recently given a form with the body of a certain teenage boy, and had the intelligence that could match, and challenge his owner’s.

                It was becoming a boy, sort of like Pinocchio, only he wasn’t made of wood (although, he may have been, once upon a time).

                He was to be his new owner’s best friend and number one supporter — whichever he needed — and _now_ he felt that he was needed.

                His form was almost done taking and when it was done, he would see to the task.

                He would rescue his master.

~PB~

The footsteps stopped before they reached his head. They stood at his waist — at least that what the extra heat around him told him; Stiles wasn’t risking opening his eyes — and they started talking in voices that sounded _awfully_ familiar.

                “How long was he supposed to be asleep? This feels too long; I don’t want to get caught!” Voice 1 sound extremely like Scott.

                “Shut up, idiot. I thought that you were an alpha. Use your ears.” Voice 2’s snippiness sounded immensely like Lydia’s.

                But they wouldn’t have kidnapped him, right? They wouldn’t have gone this far. Derek would’ve stopped them, right?

                _Derek didn’t stop them last time,_ an unhelpful voice supplied. _You were almost killed by his new girlfriend and he didn’t do a thing, now did he?_

_We should just kill them all. Then, they would recognize your power and greatness then. Would they, or would they not? You could tell me I’m wrong, but it would be a lie, would it not and aren’t you sick of lying?_

                Just then, a sharp sting was felt on his cheek. The sting pushed the void back, but consequently also brought his eyes open, which meant he could no longer fake sleeping.

                “Hey Stiles! Nice of you to finally come back to the land of the living.” Her voice was giving Stiles a headache. “Sorry you — excuse me, _my_ —boyfriend couldn’t make it to this joyous affair. Der-bear is leading that alpha guy — Ashlin was it? — off of our trail.” Stiles just wanted to wring this bitch’s neck. She talked to him in such a condescending tone that really only proved to piss him off further than he already was.

                Stiles rolled his eyes, visibly showing Lydia his annoyance. He was going to say something smart and snarky, but Stiles didn’t particularly feel like talking to the tramp any longer. He turned his head to the other side, catching sight of his ex-best friend.

                Scott. He was such a little shit for being involved with this. He had the audacity to make Stiles feel like he was worthless, then wore a kicked puppy expression while _Stiles_ was the one strapped to a fucking table, presumably to get tortured for some dumbass reason.

                Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. ‘Lana, give me patience’ he prayed. He was a few steps away from blowing a fucking gasket and letting out a scream that was more frustrated and piercing than that of a banshee’s.

                Lana give him strength.

                He was snapped out of his thoughts by a hand surrounding his throat. His eyes snapped open to the face of Lydia, which had such an expression of anger and hate that her face was nothing but hideous. It was twisted and cruel. Someone so young should have never had such strong and malicious feelings towards something. “You have taken my sanity, _Stiles_.” He had only heard Harris speak his name with mocking-hatred together, but Lydia managed it just fine. “You embarrassed me and put my life on the line with your selfishness. Maybe, that’s why your father left you for me and _my mother_ , who is very much alive and well, unlike yours.” Stiles was trying to hold back tears, and Lydia tightened her grip, which made it very hard to. “Maybe, if Allison wee here, I wouldn’t be like this, only she _isn’t_. Do you know why? Because you **killed** her, then Aiden, and that left me all alone. But you wanna know where I find my solace? I find it when I think about the fact that you will die unloved and alone when you die, very much unlike the two of them.”

                Her grip grew tighter, and Stiles felt his air supply completely disappear. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scott just and there looking angry. Although, instead of the anger being directed towards Lydia, it was (and here’s the real fucking kicker) directed at _Stiles_ and the boy grew further enraged with each word Lydia spoke.

                The fire in Scott’s eyes would have made Stiles flinch, had he not been held steady by the redhead’s hand upon his throat. Scott held out something to Lydia, and Lydia took it, which fortunately for Stiles meant that she had to remove a hand from his throat. The lack of that one hand allowed him to get some of his air supply back, and while he was sputtering and choking, left him to wonder how he had lasted so long.

                Then, Stiles saw what was in Lydia hand.

                His next thought was: Oh shit. I’m gonna die in a _warehouse_.


	11. Chapter 11: A Real Bloddy Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was update so late, but I was busy being lazy and avoiding life.
> 
> Does anyone know how to add images to stories? Not just the html shit, but actual images that I can easily upload from my computer and you guys won't have to click on a link to view them? If youo do, let me know, because I really would appreciate it.

His next thought was: Oh shit. I’m gonna die in a _warehouse_.

~PB~

Why the fuck was this his life?

Stiles was going to die at the hands of his ex-crush and ex-best friend for reasons that just don’t add up. For example, why did they wait so long to get their so called “justified death” when they had lots of opportunities to kill him, simple and quick, without seeming like suspects in any way, shape, or form. They could’ve staged his death as an accident, but this definitely pointed in their direction.

_Not like anyone’s going to care,_ an annoying voice was all too happy to remind him. _Not even your father cares about you anymore._

Ignoring those words, Stiles went back to his original train of thought: Why?

Stiles wanted to ask, to demand that the people he was once so close to give him an answer, only he couldn’t.

But he couldn’t, because apparently these two people were so hell-bent on getting their revenge, that they were going to kill him and it seemed as though all of the questions and begging in the world would not hinder them in the least. Stiles sighed.

Thinking back, Stiles wonders why he didn’t leave Beacon Hills. Sure, he still would’ve been plagued with nightmares of what he’d been through, what he’s done, but leaving Beacon Hills would’ve him some type of relief. It would’ve allowed him to heal, to recover.

However, he’d never get the chance to do so now because he’ll be six feet under or a pile of ashes or maybe just a mutilated body left to rot on the table as another ‘Fuck you’.

       Still in his head, Stiles saw a glint of something and came back to himself. The [knife](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/be/a5/29/bea529607f0b945a04af117f19ef6d2a.jpg) Lydia held in her hands seemed to glow as she lifted her hands. At this point, she had straddled him, probably to get an easier angle to choke him, but now Stiles just thought about how deep the stiletto knife with her strength and the help of gravity (which was never kind to him, like at all).

‘Ugh,’ Stiles couldn’t help but think. ‘My death is gonna be a drag.’

And as soon as he finished mentally pouting at how slow his death would be, the knife plunged into his stomach.

Stiles would like to say that he didn’t scream because he is strong and has faced worse things, but that right there would be a fucking lie. The pain was unbearable and because the knife was so thin, it was an especially good torture device. He could feel the blade slicing through his skin and his tissue and plunging into his stomach, seriously fucking shit up. Why wouldn’t they speed this up and make it stop?

He was howling, thinking that maybe if he showed his pain, he would appeal to the parts of him that actually liked him. He was screaming and begging, doing anything to get them to show him mercy, as she continued to plunge the knife into his body.

But like the bite, Stiles was immune to his cries, and instead seemed to revel in them, as did Scott.

The sight of their manic smiles and the knife in her hands and his blood _everywhere_ made something in Stiles disintegrate.

Maybe it was the little bit of naïveté he had left or his belief in his friends, but all he knew was that his next scream was so loud and grief-stricken, that his captors’ ears began to bleed and the glass roof of the warehouse began to splinter and crack.

And fall.

Lydia’s body on top of his sheltered him from most of the deadly processed sand, but his strapped down hands couldn’t reach up to cover his face.

So he closed his eyes and prayed to every god and deity out there that the pain of his soon to come disfigurement would be quick and not drawn out.

A piece of glass fell, right though his cheek, poking his tongue. It was too big to be lodged in his face, yet was. Then another shard, right upon his cheekbone, which shouldn’t even be possible — but in spite of that logic, still was.

Stiles wanted to scream, but he thought of the possibility of a fragment falling in to his open mouth, slicing his tongue clean off, making him an Avox.

That thought made him snap his mouth shut, not even opening his mouth to scream. His lips were solidly pressed together, making him clench his jaw, consequently flaring the pain in his cheekbone and jiggling the shard in his cheek.

The only thing left to do at this point was cry, and boy, did Stiles ever.

~PB~

It’s almost there. One mile left, then a half-mile, then nothing. No more space left between It and Master, providing relief, but that feeling lasted temporarily as heart-wrenching screams were heard from inside of the warehouse.

It began pulling open the door to the [warehouse](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a5/32/e3/a532e386718e558efcfeaa56640df28f.jpg), with the sound of splintering glass as a welcome. The sound prompted It to hurry, and hurry the being did, for Master was still inside of it.

When It walked in, It was greet with the sight of falling shards of glass, everywhere. The glass was large and thick, most likely heavy, from the look of it. No sooner was that theory thought when a giant piece fell and went through the top of the redheaded girl’s school, with only a little piece sticking out and a geyser of blood giving any indication of what happened.

Out of the corner of Its eyes, the being noticed that the true alpha boy was clutching something, most likely his severed ear, and looking for cover frantically, trying not to have the fate as the girl, because even a werewolf could not recover from a brain damage of that magnitude.

Deciding that this boy was not worthy of shelter, the being made him completely immobile and left him standing right under falling glass, hoping that he soon got what was due to him.

Finally, It caught sight of Master. Master was pinned under the lifeless corpse of the girl and was radiating hurt and panic, so It did the only thing that could be done and, well… left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am almost finished the next chapter and it should be up by the end of this year. Well, at least I hope it will be.


	12. A/N

No this story isn't on some indefinite hiatus. I was dying of the flu, so my time on the interweb was limited. Anyway, I'm ending _this part_ of the story here and starting a second one!!!! Also, if you think any ideas would nicely mesh with the next part, LET ME KNOW.

Also, I have a [tumblr](http://princessabitchessa.tumblr.com/), where you can give me PROMPTS, so please do (especially cheating and shotiles)!!! Just click on the white icon with three lines and go to What'cha Want?"


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